The Adopted Debutante [Rough Draft]

The Altercation

Bylious strode rapidly down the winding garden path, hands thrust in his pockets, eyes cast down.

"It'll come to no good," he muttered. "He doesn't deserve a girl like her. He's not half the man she needs: strong, brave, unflinching. He's the son of a crow and a mouse. If what I heard this morning is true, then he doesn't even want her." 

He paused in his walk and began to pace back and forth. 

"But who could he want? It must be another girl. What scandal it would bring to Eloise! The dishonor would drive her to the slums. It can't happen. I won't let it," He glanced upwards suddenly, "But how to use—why, look who the devil placed before me?" 

Faulke stood just beyond the fence, still waiting for Flintworth to deliver his message. Bylious grimaced horribly at Faulke. 

Faulke smirked, "He dropped me here not an hour hence, and you've passed me...twice, was it?"

"I suppose your ears were as wide as ever?" Bylious remarked.

"I make it my business to keep what I hear to myself." Faulke replied with a derisive look. "Better than you do, if I may say."

"I heard that Jeremy dear isn't so fond of Eloise as he was," Bylious said, stepping nearer.

"Really? I trust you have reliable sources for that," Faulke answered.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you, Faulke?" Bylious questioned.

"How should I know?" Faulke shrugged. "I'm not as involved in the high circles of society as someone so sophisticated as yourself must be. Mrs. Anandale would be a better person to ask, though I'm sure you already have."

Bylious eyed him strangely. 

"Why are you loitering about out here?" he asked. "Waiting for someone? Lady MacBeth, perhaps?"

Faulke flushed with anger. 

"I'm waiting for Sir Carroll," he said quietly.

"That's a lie," Bylious accused. "You're waiting for Eloise."

"Fine, don't believe me. It's none of your business whom I'm waiting for, anyway," Faulke said. "Must the whole world bend to your will and whims?"

"It bends to your tongue more often," Bylious answered, his own anger mounting, "I use my will for better things than you and your serpent-tricks. You're wooing that dove into your hole. When she's trapped in there, you'll do what you want with her."

"I'd rather die," Faulke said, suppressing his anger.

"Interfere too much, and you will." Bylious returned with a threatening glance.

"If I do, it will be at hands more deserving than yours," Faulke hissed. "I'm not afraid of you."

He made to walk past Bylious. Suddenly, Bylious' hand gripped him roughly by the throat. Faulke was caught unaware and frantically pulled at Bylious' wrist. The grip grew tighter and closer with each moment as the air was squeezed from Faulke's throat. He felt himself pushed against the fence.

Bylious gloated at him, "Well, if the fear of God can't be put in you, the fear of the peerage  might do the trick."

Faulke struggled but grew weaker with every attempt to break free. No help was in sight, and he was unable to cry out. He looked again at Bylious' grimacing face.

"Go ahead," he whispered. "Take me...It'll bring you to the noose...all the sooner."

Bylious chuckled, "You'll end up there yourself, I'll be bound." He smiled, "Perhaps I'd better leave off, then. It'd be quite a pleasure to see you hanged someday. Watch the devil return to hell, hm?"